


Not Today

by Francium



Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Death mention tw, I'm not prepared enough to have established characters at this point, M/M, Might become explicit later depending, suicide mention tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francium/pseuds/Francium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, to begin, Peter is a tired, bitter taxi-driver trying to earn a few extra bucks, and he keeps picking up the same douche-bag mercenary. From there, through chance meetings and rather fateful encounters, they must discover humanity and - in Peters case - patience, in order to coexist. </p><p>Heavily follows the plot for the new Deadpool movie, so if you haven't seen it - Spoiler warning!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Luckless

**Author's Note:**

> It feels good to be writing for this fandom once more! I hope you guys like this new story!

Just three months into getting his license, and Peter Parker was anticipating losing it through an 'accident' to shut up a customer. College had racked up some pretty painful bills, and he'd taken to job-jumping until something flexible came up; hence his current situation, a customer sat to his side rather than in the sectioned off boot, spewing incomprehensible bullshit with no indication of stopping. Thank god they were pretty, or they'd have nothing going for them. 

"Pizza?" The man offered, waving his open box to let the smell waft around, "Got it on the job but, honestly, I didn't even want it. Just seems more dramatic." 

Peter glanced quickly from the road to the contents, half eaten and the card scratched at suspiciously in random place. He declined with a curt shake before eyeing the Satnav, each meter count dragging them closer to the destination and him away from the customer. Most gave up conversation, or simply stopped addressing him, but not this man. 

"You ever taken a shit in kitty litter before?" 

"No sir," Parker responded, flexing his fingers on the wheel and indicating left, pulling further into the rather rough neighbourhood. He'd never been there without adorning his spandex, and hoped that after this visit, he wouldn't return. 

"Yeah, I don't recommend it. I mean, it smells fantastic, don't get me wrong, but there's something so satisfying about flushing that you just don't experience - pull over here!" The man grappled the wheel and forced them aside, front wheel skimming across the pavement as Peter slammed the breaks. 

"What the fuck?" Peter glanced angrily at the man beside him, who had already unclipped his seatbelt and was thumbing through a wad of cash. The customer took one look at the meter before tossing a set of notes into Peter's direction, barely giving time for collection before the man was out the car and striding away. 

"Names Wade, by the way," He informed, hesitating only to speak, "If you're lucky, you'll never see me again."

Peter had to silently agree as Wade sauntered off, and it was only once Wade had disappeared behind a corner that Peter noted the cash in his hand, an extra $50 having been tipped. Huh. Maybe the smart-ass (great ass) hadn't been so bad, although he hardly anticipated another meeting between the two. 

Shrugging to himself he pulled away, listening absently to the radio and waiting for his final call of the day. Two teenagers party-hopping had him returning closer to home, boarding into the back with the scent of cheap vodka sticking to their clothes. He continued driving. Life goes on. 

 

You never see a new yorker twice, not if they're a good Samaritan certainly. Peter never intended to see anyone from his line(s) of work, having had some rather nasty incidents in all his occupations; however, it wasn't coincidence when he faced the same Wade at the skate park that night. The man had been conversing with a group of teen girls, getting a rather emotional response from all of them when displaying picture evidence. Peter had been grinding across the rails - ripping the shit out of his trucks as he went - but switched to ramp in order to overhear more of the conversation. 

The only words he caught during this were, "You're my hero."

If kitty-shitting Wade was a hero, then he deserved a noble piece prize; whatever delusions were inflicted on this crowd were not affecting Peter. Perhaps he'd prematurely judged, but there was something of a vibe that clung to Wade each time he took a step - internalized hatred and guilt, mixed with a strong waft of Vodka and pizza probably. The kind of stink that clings to a guy after waking up next to his bestfriends girlfriend, only far more intense. 

"Now that I do hate," Wade began his exit, crossing the ramp with zero disregard for the boarders passing across the flatter section. Peter attempted to manoeuvre aside but momentum was against him, they still scraped shoulders: enough of a mistake to toss Peter from his board. He landed heavily on his side, feeling pain erupt across his shoulder and his head scraped against the gravel floor. Several other skaters hesitated to check on his safety, before noting a man already doting on him. 

"Shit man, you alright?" Wade knelt down and offered a sturdy hand, pulling him up only to dash across, attempting to rescue his skateboard before it became a hazard for the other teen rebellions. One girl with a shaved scalp and dark make-up gave him a judgemental look before placing her foot on the grip and kicking it back towards Wade, the board crawling into his reach. Peter ducked off the ramps, shortly followed by Wade who handed the skateboard back over. 

Wade reached out with a tentative hand, inspecting the cut across Peter's forehead - it blossomed with fresh blood. He mopped it away with the red of his jumped, making a quick mental note to wash the damned thing when he got home, before poking around the injured shoulder. After several careful touches, he affirmed that all the remnants would be was a rather nasty bruise.

"Thought I told you it was bad luck to see my twice," The man laughed gently, glancing back at the group of girls he had prior been talking to; they were snickering in his direction. Great. "Now look at the clumsy rep we're both gonna get."

"It's a travesty, man," Peter deadpanned, touching his injuries with a curious, albeit hesitant, hand, "We're never gonna be able to show our faces in his neighbourhood again. Guess I have to move to mexico."

"Hey, I got a neighbourhood you can put your head any time you want," Wade raised one eyebrow before expressing disgust at his own pick up line, "I'm sorry, that was gross, I don't know why I said that. Just- ah. Well."

Peter snickered lightly, covering his mouth as he laughed. Wade noticed the response and shrugged, "Hell, if you don't mind."

"Hit me up when you're not taking a dump in a litter tray and maybe we can sort something out," Never a sentence Peter wanted to say, and yet somehow he was almost compelled to; almost like the writer was too lazy to keep with basic character consistencies. Strange, that.

"Ah man, I wish that was the weirdest thing I'd done today, or even in the past hour," Wade began leading them away from the park, sparing a second to wave at his previous companions - who reciprocated, giggling at a muttered comment between themselves - looking around awkwardly as he went. 

"Oh yeah, I just wanted to check, did you mean to tip me 50 bucks? You kinda bailed before I could confirm and it seems rather excessive given you really didn't go that far," Peter shrugged uncomfortably; as if he could afford to loose that at the moment. At least he was morally correct and financially broken, rather than the reverse. 

Wade caught the uneasiness in his expression and wafted it away, "Yeah, I always tip well when a guy knows how to give a good ride - feel free to keep that in mind for later. Although normally I like to get a name, but hey; small steps."

"Parker. Peter Parker," He smiled, beginning to stick out his hand before realising how nerdy that would seem and withdrawing, rubbing invisible dirt onto his jumped.

"Nice to meet you Parker Peter Parker," Wade grinned, offering a strong handshake, directing his gaze straight into Peter's, "Names Wade Wilson and I'm telling you, you're gonna get a broken mirrors lot of luck if you keep spotting me about."

Wade had to split in a different direction, having arrived at the streets they had slowly been meandering towards, and he finished the conversation with, "See you around if you're unlucky."

"Third time's a charm, Wilson." Peter waved him away, wanting to head home before the threatening rain came overhead and washed away his good mood. It's true, you never see a good New Yorker twice; he supposed he should be thankful that Wade wasn't exactly moral, or else they'd not have crossed paths once more. 


	2. Call Me When The Guilt's Over

Wade had never anticipated considering a taxi driver as a potential friend, and yet there he was, imagining another coincidental meeting. Then again, he'd never met one who wasn't Doilpender, who he had frequently used due to being a morally ambiguous person. Weasel handed him a blow-job, which he went to pass along - stirring up the shits for giggles - before changing his mind, downing the drink instead. He supposed it was that kind of night. The bartender was eying him with a certain knowledge, the kind that allowed a man to tip extra vodka to a sad sod who had dragged himself away from his cheating wife, or slip a cigarette to a stressed office worker. Weasel squinted behind his glasses, clearly surveying the mood and anticipating emotions. 

"Make sure that gets back to the girl, I don't want any babysitting money," Wade handed over the cash he had been paid for the prior job before looking across the bar, eyes darting to the dead pool chalk boarded above him, names scrawled across with various numbers signifying bets, "Man, some shitty friends, they've put one hell of a wager on me."

Weasel looked away, "Yeah man, no idea who would have done that..."

"You fucker," Wade hissed, "Now I'm never going to die, I'm gonna stay alive just to spite you."

"Yeah right shit bag," Weasel laughed easily, polishing the shot glass that Wade had just had, running it gently below the tap, "Got another name for you, if you're into it; dropped off fresh this morning by some pretty eager folk. Haven't even passed it around yet. The only thing is they put in a specific no kill order."

Wade scoffed as he examined the silver card that Weasel displayed, "Why hire mercenaries to rough someone up, it'd be way cheaper to just pay a clown to follow them around for a day or two. I mean, if someone did that to me I'd shit myself on the spot. Never trust a man with feet that size, he's either compensating, a liar, or one hell of a pain in the ass."

Weasel waved the questions away, sliding a new shot to the girl who had just arrived and pocketing the name below the bar. They sat in a calm silence for a while, listening to the drawl of bar life in the background. Wade had a small, shabby apartment to return to once the night drew quiet, but his brain was scratching him dry and he needed to be out. For the sake of sanity, if nothing else, the small string of reality he still clung to. No kill jobs always gave themselves to morally ambiguous entertainment, and Wade contemplated indulgence. 

Maybe he could order a taxi there. Maybe he'd get lucky, if Parker wasn't. 

"Oh yeah, not to mention we had a dude come in trying to get a hit on Spider-Man," Weasel laughed, but he pulled out a second card anyway, a gold inscription with the alter-ego curling nicely across.

He made a vague indication with his hand Weasel examined each card, contemplating the inscription, before insuring Wade could see them. Wilson gripped the gold print and laughed softly, his lips curling into a grimace rather than the smile he intended to portray, "A superhero? Nuh uh. Hell, the fuck kinda name is Spider Man? Are you kidding me with this shit?"

"That's what they wanted to find out," Weasel replied, peering forward as if he hadn't seen the inscriptions before, "They want an identity as well as a kill, paying three times the normal rate to get it, although if you ask me its already a bust. Might as well be asking for a drop of Captain Americas blood."

"Blood can go a long way, and who wouldn't want their own Captain America? That is one fine slice of man meat," Wade made a triangular shape with his fingers, curling the cards into his palms and extending his index, "Tell me you wouldn't take a blow job from Captain Dorito, I fucking dare you."

"As a straight guy, I would happily give him one," the bartender replied, a wistful expression settling on his face, nodding along. They both settled into a small hiatus, engulfed by imagination, before Wade shrugged and stood up. 

"Thanks for the names and the pep talk, you're a real fucking pal," He deadpanned, sarcasm dripping off each word, "I'm gonna see if I can polish both these off by the end of the night, wish me luck."

"If you get this done in that time I will cream myself."

"Damn right," Wade grinned, escaping the claustrophobic bar and entering the solace of night instead. The building he departed from was situated central of a shithole crossing, with a single, dilapidated door at the front and the escape round back which ripped between two equally as awkward buildings. He'd intended to get a sick ass motorbike, but each vehicle he parked in proximity to the bar was quickly hijacked, occasionally returned but never found intact. He'd given up almost entirely and headed off on foot, using his phone for a quick inspection online.

He'd had that name pass through before, a petty burglar not considered worth killing; the job would be fast enough, dull, but it kept the money going. He'd noted that sometimes it's not about getting their items back, it's about the justice. At least if he tracked the man's house, he might make some extra in pickings. No foul robbing a robber, so long as Santa wasn't looking. 

Wade perked his head up as he walked, the sound of movement on wet tile above him; stealth was far trickier in damp conditions, and it seemed he had a 'friend' experiencing that very problem. He stopped and twisted quickly, catching the briefest flash of red on a roof across from the path he walked. Hovering one hand above the hidden holster below his shirt, he walked on, tucking his thumbs into the elastic of his trousers as he continued on. 

The trickle of activity followed him for a little as he looped around the maze of alleyways before breaking off, faster in step and speed. Wade hesitated at a street corner, illuminating the two paths separated by red lights; left to where the noise had gone, right to his apartment. Curiosity killed the cat, but inactivity got the mouse. 

Fuck it. Wade picked up speed having turned left, listening to his own steps splashing through the streets and he hurried, no other sign of life but a lowly car that passed him. It took him a quick jog before he heard anything, at which point he'd begun to question his own sanity, until the distinctive noise of bone on flesh. Skidding, Wade arrived in the nook of a takeaway, one spandex superhero and a criminal in his grasp. 

The sickly yellow of street light filtered into the space, revealing what appeared more like an interrogation than anything else. Spiderman had gripped the man's arms and yanked a sleeve so hard it had ripped upwards, revealing thick skin and a star tattoo. The hero's voice on Wade approach, although he couldn't make out words, seemed to be grieving. 

"Let's be honest," Wade said, holding one hand before him to keep a distance, "This isn't the weirdest thing any of us have walked up to in a dark alley alone at night." 

Spiderman pushed the criminals head back, an unnecessary precaution given one arm seemed stuck to the wall, but it allowed him to size up Wade, "You wanna back outta here, buddy? The big kids are talking."

Wade made an unhappy smile, huffing, "That's how it is, huh? Alright, I would go, but I'm pretty sure both of you are on my cards, see..." He pulled out the chips Weasel had given him, and the criminal hissed a swear beneath his breath, "So I can't leave the big kids to play until I've got my lunch money back, k?"

Instantly Wade drew his pistols, one firing towards the criminal and shattering his shin, the other aimed to hit their neighbourhood hero. Spiderman dodged with ease, leaning back and firing a web in response, tossing the gun and jumping away in one fluid movement. Wade took another shot, this one scratching the man's shoulder. Blood blossomed from where the outfit had torn. 

Hello guilt, he thought as the hero clutched his shoulder with one hand, been a long time, hasn't it?

"I'm sorry," Wade tossed his weapon to the floor, barely evading another web to snap a picture of the criminal. Even injured, Spiderman was spry and took several shots towards him with web, but Wade was already bolting down the street, evidence in one hand while the other swung wildly. Spiderman clearly decided he wasn't worth chasing as Wade made it back to Weasel, walking half the way. 

He'd feel less shitty after a drink and a paycheck, that was certain.


	3. An Awkward Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V gay

Peter stared back at his bed for a second, questioning crawling back under the sheets and ignoring his responsibilities, before heading off sadly. Taxi Driver, Student, 'Hero', what a fucking timetable. At least there were 5 minuet snack breaks, if he coordinated it right. He barely had the chance to change from one uniform before slipping into another, the few snatched seconds of sleep a mere breath before he was up for action once more. And if sleep deprivation wasn't fantastic enough already, the injury, barely a graze on his shoulder, was just in the right position to make everything a discomfort. Changing shirts? Pain. Sleeping? Nope. Steering? As if. 

In summary, Peter was well and truly fed up with the world, and even coffee wasn't rescuing him. 

The walk to work agitated his shoulder even further, as each brush of pedestrian made the ache stretch across his skin. He couldn't but help roll his shoulder, nibbling his lip as he passed from one kinda shithole to the serious shithole that the taxi's operated from. When he did arrive to work the motivation within him drained and his only thoughts went straight to his bed, his room, the comforts of his confinement that he spent his waking moments infatuated with. He just wanted some sleep. 

"Ah, Parker! There you are!" A jolly man, not a boss but still superior in rank, began directing him to the bay of vehicles, "We just received a call not far from here, perfect for you!"

"And why's that?" Peter didn't even manage to smile, noting the clock on the wall. He was early as well, and rushed straight into action. Joy. 

The man shrugged lightly, breaking away to go into the body of the building, but not without a simple, "They asked for you specifically."

In every profession, people had their preferences - a favourite waiter or bar staff, maybe a very friendly superhero - but they didn't often get personal requests. Perhaps some pervert might ask to see their only female driver, but people would often avoid him instead of want him. Somehow, that trail of thought didn't help the cool pit of uncomfortableness frothing in his stomach, and he drove to the destined locations with the same feeling of unease.

 

When Wade stepped into the car, Peter hissed internally and instantly considered kicking him out - especially as he has cozied himself into the passenger seat once again. Peter had no evidence that it had been Wade in the alley, but his spidey-senses were alight with panic, and he'd learnt the hard way not to question them. Through gritted teeth, Peter manged a grim, "Where to today?"

"So hostile," Wade whined, "Come on babe, where's the loving we had at the skate park?"

Peter felt heat crawl up his neck, but he shrugged it off, rolling his shoulder - an action Wade picked up on, it seemed. Probably related the injury to the skatepark incident - Peter was just being paranoid. He tapped the running meter with a serious expression, his face tight, "Where to?"

Wade huffed and pushed back in his chair, arms crossed like a pouty child, pathetic scowl on his brow, " Madison street, Manhattan. If that's not too much trouble."

Peter felt tension stretch along his chest, and an automatic, "No Sir," bubbled out. He knew that any hostility towards a customer could get him into serious shit, but he had not doubt that Wade would not report him. He trusted Wilson for that, if nothing else. 

"You know, you'd really been growing on me," Wade whined from the passanger seat, his eyes skimming the pavement but not taking anything in; the far-away expression was almost majestic, early morning sun tickling his features and colouring his iris. 

Peter focused intently on the road, trying to ignore the unexpected guilt that he did not deserve, thank you very much, "Sorry, it's early."

"Is it?" Wade turned to him and squinted," I didn't sleep a fucking wink last night. Might as well still be yesterday in my head."

"Insomnia?" Peter could understand that, with all he'd experienced, the death of his ex-girlfriend, the pain of her father and his uncle... Yeah. Insomnia was a given at this stage. 

The passenger pursed his lips and nodded lightly, "Something like that, yet. Takes one to know one." Wade gave him an affectionate smile which he half returned, his nerves having cooled off enough to enjoy the man's company once more. Maybe they could be friends. 

They were halfway when Wade glanced at the meter and cursed low, "Sorry man, just kick me out here. I don't have the cash to cover the rest; fuckers didn't pay me. Seriously, just here will do."

"I think after a $50 tip I can drop you a couple of blocks further," Peter reassured, not even bothering to slow the cab. His passenger gave him an appreciative nod.

"I didn't give you that to make you in my debt."

"I know," Peter dared glance away from the road to look at Wade, and shit, the morning sun really was enchanting his features, "Maybe you really are just the hero that Gotham deserves."

Wade scoffed, reaching out to give the driver an affectionate shove before deciding their relationship wasn't quite that friendly and recoiling with an awkward expression, running his active hand across his short hair to pretend that was his original intention. Peter noticed and said nothing, but smiled lightly. 

They drew up besides a cafe, a small bistro that sweetened the very air around it. Wade dashed out, although actually waited for the taxi to park before he leapt out, and after making a waiting gesture ran into the shop. Peter would have loved to drive back and collect another call, but Wade hadn't paid, and so he just had to put faith and assume Wade knew what he was doing. 

After an antagonising slow 3 minute wait, Wade appeared once more, two take out coffee's, one in each hand, which he was trying to balance while attempting to balance sunglasses on. Peter stepped out of the vehicle and walked onto the pavement where his customer was struggling so desperatly. Peter considered taking the two coffees and placing them on the roof of the car, but changed his mind and instead slipped Wade's glasses out of his hands.

"You are such a douchebag," Peter looked at them, black-lensed, the bridge and surrounding frame thick and incredibly rectangular, "You realise that right?"

Wade prepared one witty retort, but before he could deliver Peter began slipping the glasses onto his head, tucking the legs behind his ears, bringing them closer together, "I.. Uh.. Thanks. I.. Got you some coffee. Figured if you're this grumpy when tired, it was better to wake you up a bit."

Peter took one of the cardboard cups, along with a crumple of notes Wade paid for his journey with, before they departed. Probably for the best, anymore awkward hanging-around and eye-fucking and Peter was going to burst. At least, he decided, Wade wasn't the man he'd encountered in the alley - it must have been some other nameless crook. They all tended to blur in. 

 

When Peter drove away, Wade watched him go before tossing his coffee into a bin; he didn't even like the stuff, but Peter did.


	4. Charmed and Disarmed

Wade found it increasingly difficult to ignore the growing infatuation with Peter, despite their few and far between encounters. He'd looked across the regulars in the bars, the working gals and guys, and felt nothing for them. A taxi-driver. He'd heard friends talk of all kinds of encounters, but a fucking taxi? Why.

Through the days, Wade was attempting to find solid work somewhere locally. While he did make enough from his night expeditions, he wanted a more stable way of living his life; strangely, being a mercenary didn't lend itself to stability. If he even wanted to consider a relationship, he would need to build a life first, something he could share....

Fuck. It was only 4 chapters in and he already felt in the thick of things. 

Weasel had called him the morning after his taxi-drive with Peter, offering to help with the job hunting. Local papers were always offering free-lance photography, but Wade was cack-handed with a camera and never had a creative eye, couldn't even take a flattering selfie, and that was saying something with a face like his. The general attraction for papers were superheroes, and Wade wasn't 100% sure if he wanted to risk that kind of exposure. He'd rather admire Captain America from a distance and his wall posters, thank you. 

Somehow, it seemed rude to call for a taxi once more, knowing that Peter might be forced to suffer through another drive, and so Wade took to his feet and headed back into the city. Traffic crawled in the main streets, and he passed plenty of cars stuck stagnant on the roads; Wade couldn't but help think of Peter at the sight of every yellow flank.

He was lucky enough to see Spiderman back in action, though. Wade had ducked down to watch from the rails of New Dock Street, Brooklyn, watching the cityscape across. Originally, the police sirens had made him tense with paranoia, the blue lights dissipating under an early sunrise. The cars couldn't maintain speed with the bike they pursued and the black, sleek vehicle slipped between the traffic and hummed along the bridge with ease. 

Only when the motorist had reached the other side Wade noticed the red silhouette of movement sprinting across the suspender of the bridge, being carried up with the natural curve. When the man reached the top he lept off, no hesitation, but a free-fall before catching onto something and propelling himself forward. Curiosity peaked, Wade began bringing himself closer to watch, to note the cyclist pull out an automatic and shoot blindly behind him. 

The webslinger stopped for several seconds to pull a pedestrian out of the line of fire, exposing himself for a shot that nearly landed. Wade watched as the bike sped away, and the red silhouette carried himself after, the same beautiful fluidity in his movements as a spider weaving silk. Perhaps that was intentional. 

 

When Spiderman swung between the two buildings and out of Wade's view, he remembered picking up the inscription with the spandex-spider's hit on. Wade knew that him keeping the name would keep anyone else from picking up the commission, but equally was aware that some rather nasty employers would happily pry it from him, dead or alive. 

He wasn't a fucking hero and there was no point pretending to be, but he would keep the inscription anyway. After all, he was quickly becoming a fan of Spiderman, even if it was just from watching. 

Well well Wade, maybe you're human after all. 

 

\--- 

When Peter finished the chase and watched the criminal escorted away, he barely had time to shove the costume away when he bumped into Wade once more. Peter had scrambled out of the window of a cafe toilet, leading him into the straggly back street behind, when Wade bumped into him. 

"Oh, shit, hey," Wade looked as startled as he felt, a hand outstretched in apology, "We need to stop meeting like this." 

"Maybe if you didn't slink around, mr shady," Peter rubbed his shoulder lightly before tracing his thumb across palm, a nervous habit he picked up from Gwen, "What brings you here?" 

"I really fucking live alleyways," Wade grinned, "I was down by the bridge foot, but I saw spidey and got curious. Thought he'd slunk through here, but I guess not." 

Wade settled with this lie to pretend he hadn't got lost. 

"Wait, Spidey was here? Damn, I would have loved to get a photo of him," Peter tried to swallow down his nerves, "That is if he was here, which we don't know, could have been any hero really. Or costumes freak." 

"Preach it," Wade grinned, his fingers curling round the back of his neck; he wanted to dispel the tension somehow, "So, er, you know any good places to eat? Like, I dunno, a taco vender or something?"

"You want tacos?" 

"Please," He stuck his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting, "Spicey food's my fucking jam, almost as good a feeling on the exit too."

Peter grimaced, leading them out of the alley and into the more compact street. He knew a couple of close-by places which served Mexican food, some of it was even edible, but if Wade really was a cynosure of taco's, he'd have to find somewhere decent.

They walked through the long strip of street, with Wade craning his head at every opportunity for food, but it was a far way down before Peter declared their destination. It was on a small patch of park that littered the city that they came across, a woman inside a caravan serving heated packages to anyone who passed. The font stretched across the roof just read, 'Sarah's', and the two exchanged glances before placing their orders. 

Wade paid with a $50 note, weirdly enough, and profusely apologized as he did.

With the weather holding up they settled on the ground, Wade not caring that the black of his jeans would quickly have very visible grass all across.

There was a quiet between them, something familiar and comfortable, different to that in the Taxi prior. And hey, Peter wasn't in a pissy mood this time round, which seemed to help.

Infact, it was Peter who broke the silence, "So, what brings you to this side of the city-scape?"

"Nice sibilance," Wade smiled before shrugging, "I really just wanted to see this cute driver again, figured this was the kind of place he'd be."

"Oh really? That's a little stalker-ish, isn't it?" Peter's own smile hadn't faltered, but he had one eyebrow raised.

"Hey, I never said I followed him, just that he'd like it."

Wade finished first, having demolished his taco, and carried both the wrappers to the bin besides the entrance to the grass. Wiping the crumbs off his jeans and grass from his trousers, he glanced at his phone screen, "Welp, I've gotta go live a life. Anywhere I can drop you off? Maybe call a cab for the cabbie?"

"Nah, I've got errands to run honestly. But hey, feel free to ditch," Parker grinned to show he wasn't actually bitter before getting up himself, "Besides, I've got some major studying to do. Maybe I'll catch a spider on the way out."

With goodbyes said, they headed their separate ways. As it happens, Peter actually needed to go the same way as Wade, but they'd already ended the conversation and it was too awkward to go in the same direction, so he turned right instead. Oh well. 

If he was lucky, he'd see Wade again. Really, he needed to just get the man's number already.


	5. Unanimous Beating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the place mentioned in here is NOT weapon X  
> Also there are some aspects about this that are different for plot convenience, but Wade's new(ish) backstory will be revealed. While I wanted to follow the plot of the film, I also wanted to bring something new for people to see.

Peter and Wade began meeting much more after the Taco-Park incident. Peter had a full 2-week, 0 migraine break in-between their next meeting, when Wade once again climbed into his cab seat and grinned. They even exchanged numbers, which thankfully Wade instigated or it never would have been done. Aunt May was becoming increasingly fond of Wade in theory, and often dropped not-so-subtle hints about still accepting him and wanting to meet his not-boyfriend. 

Maybe, if hell freezes over, that's a really good idea. 

Stalker-ish as it might appear, Peter did look online to see if Wade had any public information. He'd previously suggested adding Wade on facebook, only to find out he didn't have a proper account; apparently, Wades a fucking dinosaur when it comes to technology. When browsing, Peter did find a couple of accounts accredited to one Wade Wilson, including a DeviantArt account full of rather poorly drawn pun-based creations. This, Peter had no doubt belonged to Wade. 

He didn't search for long, he wasn't that creepy, but when a Canadian newspaper appeared on the suggested list, his curiosity was peaked. 

"Cancer patient fights with doctors and escapes," Peter hissed under his breath as he read along. Wades name was not mentioned within the article for privacy reasons, but in an editorial later on his details were released to the public; they wanted to find him, apparently. The police seemed to have extra caution, stating he was, 'potentially dangerous' and 'more reckless due to his condition'. Peter couldn't even image Wade being violent; it contradicted his nature. A pang of regret ached in his chest as he realised what this meant, and he began slowly attributing Wades spontaneous actions with his physical state. Why wouldn't Wade be erratic if he believed he was dying?

After finishing reading, Peter closed the browser and sat back, his brain churning thoughts, uncertainty and guilt and everything else shit. He had no right to know that about Wade, and the result of his curiosity was too much. There wasn't a way he could subtly hint that he may know something, perhaps a sly, 'hey, are you slowly dying of cancer?' Isn't such a good idea. 

Selfish as it was, Peter liked the idea of Wade. Hardly good boyfriend material, but Peter would be lying to say he hadn't projected a relationship onto Wade and all the madness it would entail. They'd been suggestive, close to flirtatious if you realllllly looked hard, but Peter supposed it wouldn't go anywhere, and now? Now he wasn't sure he was ready for the heartbreak. 

He did send a text to Wade before bed though, just a simple check up, nothing to suspicious, right? Having stuck his spidey costume in the wash before, he learnt that he wasn't good at subtlety; Gwen often teased him for that. He wondered if Harry would have too. 

Sad sickness began settling into his stomach, easing off when he received a response from Wade. 

'Of course I'm alright, are you feeling okay??' 

'Yeah, w u askin?' 

'You asked if I was okay five times' 

Peter ignored the flush of embarrassment, thankful of the screen. He often wondered what times Wade existed, as the man practically didn't sleep and would reply at 4 in the morning most nights. He glanced at the clock, which apparently said 1 am, which couldn't be right as it was 9pm just a couple of minutes ago... 

Wade, as it so happened, was working a nightshift in a 24 hour petrol pump a little further down from Peters house, but that wasn't the point. 

When sleep wouldn't come, Peter stuck on a long Game Grumps playthrough and lay with his head back and earbuds in, staring pointlessly up at the ceiling. He huffed occasionally at the audio idiocy before giving up, shoving his phone and earbuds to one side and kicking the covers off, he sprung to action. Switching to tight boxers, he slid the spidey suit ontop and, securing the lock on his bedroom door, sprung out through the window. 

Peter hadn't swung out too far until he heard the clamber of closing bars, the commotion of people with too much to drink and too little in their wallets. He took his time examining the streets, keeping in the shadows or above the buildings. He noted a teenager, staggering her way across the path, trying to cling to every wall and leaving sweaty hand smears on any windows. She was accompanied by a man, clearly older, who stopped to tug her into his car. Peter frowned, noting her attempts to pull away, and went to drop down, until he saw someone else approaching. Peter slinked down the wall, still out of view, but closer at least. 

"You wanna leave her alone, shitbag?" Wade, still dressed in his cheap polo-shirt and work trousers, had crossed from the petrol station on the off chance the man meant trouble. Wade crossed the road quickly, seeing the redness of the womans face and the scowl on the mans. 

"Think you wanna step back," He threatened in response. She went to talk, but he hissed at her, instantly irritating Wade. 

Wilson took a defiant step forward, raising one hand as a symbol of distance, "Let her go, or I will make you."

The stranger released his grip on the girl and moved forward, walking round the car to start a fight. Wade looked up into the darkness where Peter was as if he knew, eyeing the girl before looking back to the man infront of him. Before Wade could even draw himself up the man spat on him. Wade flicked spit off his face. Took a deep breath. Struck a sick sucker punch. The fight began. 

Peter dropped elegantly from the building, landing softly next to the girl. He pulled his mask up to reveal his mouth, offering a soft smile to the woman and his arm for balance. She hooked herself over his shoulder, pointing forward, and he followed her directions, throwing a sympathetic glance to Wade who had taken a harsh hit to the face. 

He escorted her many streets down, having to retrace their steps a couple of times as she had confused on road with another, but eventually they found her parents house. Peter - spiderman, he supposed - knocked on the door that opened almost instantly to a middle aged mother. Her lip trembled at the sight of her daughter, and she quickly pulled her into the house. 

"Thank you spiderboy," She smiled weakly at him, her eyes warm. She closed called for her husband to pull out some blankets before closing her door, leaving Peter standing outside. 

Peter trudged back down the streets, attempting to follow previous steps. He found Wade, bloody-knuckles, perched on the hood of the strangers car. The stranger was sprawled out next to him, his face beaten in worse than Wade's, but his hand on his chest that was steadily rising and falling. 

"Excessive," Peter warned, looking at the man on the hood.

Wade shrugged, lifting the man off to make room for Spiderman besides him, "Don't web 'em, you don't need that kind of negative press. As far as anyone's concerned, this was just one of the normal drunk fights."

 

As appreciative as he was, Peter felt awkward sitting down. He rested gently on the hood, and Wade offered him a simple smile, "Nice work getting her home. She okay?"

"Yeah, her mum took her in," He replied, smiling lightly. He'd pulled his mask back before arriving at the girls house, but the smile still showed through with the creases of fabric. Wade returned the expression, offering a pat of solidarity on Peter's back and nodding lightly. 

Wade looked, heavy lidded, at the hero, fumbling into his pocket and pulling out a small plaque, offering it to Peter to admire; it had his superhero persona on. "I'm certain you don't know what this means," Wade began elaborating, staring at the metal and not Peter's face, "But there are people after you specifically. They've got hitmen out for you, or at least that's what they're aiming for. Just keep that mask down and you'll be fine."

"Do I want to know where you got this from?"

"No."

"Alright cool," Peter shrugged, wrapping his hand around the plaque to keep a hold of. He looked between Wade's uniform and the store ahead, "Are you supposed to be there?" 

"Yup. It's fine, I've blocked the security cameras - it'll be like I was never gone. Besides, how many people get to hang out with Spiderman?" Wade grinned, leaning across to nudge Peter with his shoulder affectionately before getting up, ready to go back to work, "Get a good nights sleep man."

Peter frowned lightly before the exhaustion kicked in and he decided to follow Wades advice. Hardly a lot done, but still good work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused please read the notes at the beginning  
> Also I'm sorry for the late upload but I hope it's worth it. <3


	6. Junk In The Trunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much anticipated scene lies ahead.

Wade dropped in to visit Weasel, picking up a small, non lethal job and staying for a chat. Rumours passed by, and while he wasn't exactly the gossiping type, some were worthy of his attention; particularly who's feeling murderous. It was good to know who to avoid. 

He visited in the morning, when the bar had only just opened and there were only three other people there, early drinkers with nothing to lose and no where to be. Wade almost wondered if a life like that was even work living. 

"So, who would you rather tap, Spider-boy or Taxi man?" Weasel deadpanned, sliding a glass of coke - no, pepsi is not okay - to Wade.

"Why do I even talk to you," Wade sipped it disinterestedly, letting his fingers tap on the cool glass. He'd received his name already - a girl wanted her abusive ex to get a little roughed up. Easy enough, and nothing to feel bad about either; perfect work, honestly. She wasn't paying a huge amount, but Wade couldn't fault her for that. 

Weasel was slouched back in the small space between hanging bottles and general, miscellaneous mess, "Cause I'm great. So really, who are you gonna fuck? Or is it a question of who first?"

"Remind me not to play 'would you rather' with you, okay?" Wade shrugged. He moved his glass to one side and slumped further onto the counter, looking lazily across the labels in front of him. Weasel lifted his eyes to meet what Wade was admiring, before sighing heavily. 

"I've got some juicy gossip if you want it," Weasel smiled lightly, drawing up a small chair from the corner of the bar and perching infront of Wade's face. This would be intimate if it weren't to block other people from hearing and to hide his lips from the security cameras; Wade's curiosity was peaked, "So, before you hopped the borders down here, your perfect Peter boy was in here. Hey, don't give me that look and listen, okay? Apparently, his uncle was killed by a robber - close shot in the middle of the streets. He comes in here with the police sketch, saying he knows what we do and wants a hit on this guy. Now, poor guy's grieving and all, but you couldn't see the guys eyes and New Yorks a big place; had to turn him down."

"Shit," Wade, having listened patiently, found it hard to process. And here he was thinking Peter was perfect; although he was sure Peter would have regretted it.

"Yeah, so how's that for digging about? I guess everyone's got a dark side," Weasel went to get up but remembered something and stayed low, "I heard something else, actually. Something about you and Spider-boy, and you 'losing your plaque'?" 

Shame and fear crossed Wade's face - they'd been in public at night, he should have known not to be so obvious about giving it to Spiderman. He should have been less obvious, or perhaps not even done it. Weasel was giving him something of an abrasive look, a simple 'bad boy' which he'd rather be told than face the silence of disappointment.

"Just make sure you know what you're doing," Weasel breathed as he got up, looking across the bar before giving Wade a simple nod - it was time for him to be on his way. 

Wade left the bar and walked several blocks down, where he was called a Taxi and leant against a wall to wait.

 

Yes, Peter was aware he had a call to go to. Peter was aware that, as a taxi driver, he could as if someone else was in the local area, but everyone knew he was not only close by, from GPS, but did not have any passengers. He could fake a sudden illness, or could simply pretend that his system had gone down for the duration of the call. 

Truthfully, he was having problems ending a spidey-fight. It didn't seem to matter what he did, Mr Tracksuit clearly had no intention of stopping shooting, and was pulling guns out from impossible places. With a quick whip of web he sent a pistol flying, only for the man to quickly draw and AK.

"Now you're just compensating for something," Spidey hissed, this time flinging a web simultaneously at the mans mouth and legs. He lost grip on the weapon, and it took only a fraction of a second for him to draw that gun away too, leaving only the persons hands to deal with. Without much thought, Peter webbed his taxi boot open and flung the man inside, slamming the hood only to comprehend the mistake he now had to follow through. Awkwardly, he sat inside, costume still on, and sat in the drivers seat out of pure shock. 

When senses kicked in and the radio crackled once more, Peter made sure no one was around before slipping off his mask and, thankful of his taxi's broken CCTV, threw his college clothes back on top of his costume. Detachable gloves had never come in so handy, or been so uncaringly shoved into a backpack in a moving vehicle.

Wade was standing at the pavement when Peter stopped, and he knew Wade was his customer. The man sat easily in the front, and Peter had to program in his destination as it was somewhere new. 

"You alright?" Wade was peering at his lightly, a much unwanted scrutiny, "You've got a bruise on your face and..." 

"I'm fine," Peter offered a weak smile, aware of the sweaty mess that he must appear. He'd been reported to his college several times, as people were concerned he was experiencing abuse; sweet of people to car, but a concern for his aunt's reputation. He didn't need Wade pressing now. 

Wilson didn't look overly convinced, but at least his eyes were on the road, "If there is something wrong, just tell me, alright? I mean I'm a shady dude, sure, but you can trust me."

"I know," Peter offered a small, but genuine smile, which was gratefully returned. They had a moment in that silence, until Peter drove over a speed bump and a rather uncomfortable 'umf' sound came from the boot. 

They both paused, Wade giving him a rather suspicious side eye while Peter held his breathe and stared at the road like his was on an episode of The Office. 

"Did that come from the boot?"

"Di - Did what?" Peter corrected his voice break, putting on a 'casual' expression, "I didn't hear anything, did you? Cause I'm sure it wasn't anything, probably just my stomach acting up, you know? Or nothing. Probably nothing."

Peter, as is evidenced, does not cope under pressure, and unfortunately, this was not an easy situation to pull off. 

"What's in the boot, Parker?"

"Nothing, nothing, of course," Peter shrugged comically, and when the next speed bump came, he even pretended to make a noise, only for the criminal to decide not to make one. Wade's side-eye hadn't lessened, and it was with uncomfortable tension that Peter pulled up to Wade's destination. When he parked, Wade kept the stare up for a little longer before paying and departing. Peter let his head fall forward, hitting it against the horn and scaring the shit out of both him and Wade. 

Peter really wanted to curl up in bed and pretend that hadn't happened, but unfortunately, he still had junk in his trunk he needed to dump somehow.


	7. Lower Your Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back friends
> 
> A large part of this is because I feel both fics and comics tend to ignore the fact that Wade is dying and through that is actually in a lot of pain and has a lot of resurfacing health issues. So yeah. Enjoy.

Sometimes it was easy for Wade to forget he was dying. Symptoms would come in waves, subtle or relentless, no regard for time or place. Seizures in his limbs were the most common offenders, a quake in his hand or his calf muscle brokenly contracting. The worst, when he lost control of his entire body. These were the fewest, but he'd triggered on a mission and given away not only his cover, but the specification had been no witnesses; he hadn't wanted to brutalize, but his body gave him no choice. He'd dealt with the bodies once the aches had subsided.

Wade remembered he was dying every time he took medication, every time a mug dropped from his hand or his toe broke against the leg of a sofa. There were no warnings, just the sudden shock of seizure. He'd hidden them from Peter, out of pride mostly. Peter didn't need to know.

Peter was a soft boy, honestly. Even with what Weasel had revieled, Wade knew he was a good person underneath. A couple of years younger, 19 to Wade's 23, and maybe, if nothing else, Wade should back off because of that. 

His biggest problem was that he didn't want to. It had been a year since he'd left Vanessa behind, and Wade was convinced he'd never find anyone as beautiful; past tense. Peter had the same dark-set features, the heavy brow on soft skin, his lighter in complexion. His eyes were a warm brown, roasted hazelnuts on Christmas or the sickly sweet of newly unwrapped chocolate. Peters eyes were forever tired, discoloured beneath from weary nights. Wade wanted to lift his bags and burdens, to brush a thumb gently across Peters cheek, the movement rubbing away the worry that weaved under his skin...

Wade was pinning. He knew it. He almost hoped this was a genuine infatuation, and not bare loneliness.

When curiosity overcame him, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through facebook names. They weren't officially friends, but Peter Parker had given him all he needed to find his profile, and Wade knew his picture instantly; a selfie, with Peter smiling softly, his black rimmed glasses highlighted by the single light source, somewhere behind camera. There was a still city-scene behind him, blurred automatically. 

He only had to click the next picture along for his heart to drop. Peter, grinning wider than Wade had seen, his arm around a blonde who was returning the expression. She was more in focus, through Peters design, and everything in the environment highlighted her eyes. She was beautiful, and the striking blue added an electric elegance to the photo. Click - There they were again, this time in college, a picture hazardless in angle and frame, perhaps the result of a surprise. Their grins echoed each others. He moved one along but he was greeted by the same happy faces, same reminder of what Wade had and could never have again. 

Unwarranted betrayal gripped Wade and, without looking further, he dialed Peter. 

"Wade, I didn't give you my number for you to call me at 3 in the morning," Peter sounded half dead down the receiver, and while Wade couldn't see it, he was shaking with exhaustion. Peter was slung half off the bed, his costume still twisted around his ankles. He'd barely got in, and he had pulled himself onto the sheets without stopping to shut the window.

Silence on the other end. Wade's call was impulsive - he had no aim or objective, just an unfathomable cold pool in his stomach. He stuttered slightly, and heard the quiet irritation on the other end; "I... How's the girlfriend?"

"What do you mean?" Peter was grinding his teeth together.

"The girl, blonde girl, saw you with her."

"I highly doubt that," Was the snapped response, "As she died last year."

Wade hesitated, returning to the home screen and flicking up facebook once more. Peter's profile was still there, and on the last picture of them, the description read a simple, 'RIP, I will always love you'. He only managed to offer a soft 'oh', his heart sinking once more. He heard the pain of repressed anger, of breaking and healing and the loneliness in-between, "I'm sorry."

Peter swallowed loudly, his eyes becoming unfocused as he remembered her falling, his desperate web, the sound of her head against concrete. 

"How'd she...?"

"Don't," Peter whispered, pleading. 

Wade offered a meek apology, but it was just formality. It wasn't his lack of guilt - he harboured plenty of that - it was the way he hated her so suddenly, seeing her hands on Peter, the smile only she gave him. The hatred had subsided, but there was still a numbness In its wake. Besides, he knew Peters tone of voice, it was the kind that followed him to work, that haunted his dreams soon after. Peter had been there when she died.

Silence settled between them, so much so he assumed Peter had fallen asleep. Instead, Peter was tossing and turning his body and thoughts, ravelled in uncertainties. Wade had sounded so spiteful at the prospect of him in a relationship - maybe he... No. Peter wasn't so arrogant that he'd assume Wade's interest, as much as he'd like to. Instead he just marked it down to Wade's mood. That made more sense, surely. 

As for Gwen, well, Peter had much time to mourn, and while his greif had been strong, time had helped it settle. He'd loved her, a part of him still did, but it wasn't as sore a topic. 

"Have you heard of the green goblin?"

"Yeah, that supervillain shitstick, died didn't he?" Wade remembered the news, the irony of him being killed by his own glider. Man had a think for Spiderman that was for sure. 

"She dies during one of his attacks," Peter whispered. He didn't want to go into the full details, and Wade knew it wasn't his place to ask.

"You must be happy he's gone then," Wade attempted to lighten the topic slightly, although perhaps Harry Osborne dying as well wasn't the best topic - actually, didn't Peter know Harry? 

 

Peter didn't talk, this time he was drifting to sleep, but Wade didn't disconnect the call, just let it carry on while he got ready. Wade had a collection of meds to help ease his seizures, with some combinations working better than others. He grabbed a glass and threw a handful of pills back with warm tap water. He stripped to his boxers, and while he would normally sleep without, it felt weird and inappropriate to be exposed while on the phone to Peter.

Wade had solidified the idea that Peter wouldn't want him, but now he had new motive; Peter didn't need anyone else dying on him. He'd even, begrudgingly, switch cab companies. As a small, starting out business, they were eager to please and had a 'No questions asked' policy that Wade would miss dearly. He'd almost convinced himself that was all he'd miss, until a noise on the receiver startled him. He heard the muffled whines of a nightmare before disconnecting the call, sitting in the quiet uncomfortably.


	8. Black Keys

Peter's skin itched like it was shedding; he'd only just removed the stigma of loneliness only to be blacklisted by Wade. Perhaps he should have anticipated this, befriending someone so fickle, but Peter seemed to have a taste for the uncanny and difficult. Were it not for the plaque he'd hidden deep within his closet, he'd convince himself Wade was a fever-dream. Constructed in the memory of Gwen. 

He wanted to drink. 

Substance abuse was hardly fitting for a hero - although Iron Man seemed to be doing okay - but when the cold self-hatred emerged Peter wanted to be numb. Right now, tucked on in the ceiling corner, he could feel everything. The tiniest vibrations trickled in through the neighbours windows and quaked his nerves, the noise of his aunt cleaning shivering down his spine. He pinned down his chest's aches to the over sensitivity of his body, to the rhythm of the world being played contrapuntally to that of his heart. Lonely was the hardest solution. 

Peter dropped with a trained elegance, feet soft against the short carpet. Taking a deep breath he recovered the plaque underneath his costume, the gold engraving in a crude attempt at calligraphy. Written on the back a short, 'Sister Margaret, May Your Aim Be True' as was standard. 

Sister Margaret's bar, Peter remembered, was at least a forty minuet hike from his house, a squalor in equal footing, encompassed by residential areas and drug dens. It would be difficult, and there was nothing to suggest that Wade would be present.

Burying his concerns and the sick twist of acid that was boiling in his stomach, he wished a quick farewell to his auntie before heading out. 

The day was not overly pleasant. Dark clouds, polluted in hue, had rolled over the city. The air was thick with the promise of rain and Peter felt as if he was drowning. With mild interest he watched suits of armour break the skyline, jets dispersing quickly into the pitch of the sky. There was normally one avenger present, although flying in these conditions couldn't be easy; Peter struggled enough when the fog rolled in to detect where to land a web. His enhanced senses could only go so far, and several of the heroes didn't even have that. 

Peter allowed his thoughts to engulf him as he wandered. Wade's sickness, Gwen's death and Harry's destruction; he sure had an attraction to the macabre. Often he wondered, perhaps if he had allowed Harry to take samples, perhaps they'd still be alive. Perhaps Gwen would have taken them to England, and they'd be curled in some fancy student accommodation playing games online with Harry at stupid o'clock in the morning. Or, would the serum create someone with equal abilities? Maybe him and Harry would swing across the city together, racing like the children they were. All the time, what would Wade be doing? Living the same life? Peter imagined Wade curled in a drug den, a broken needle in his neck and track marks over his arms. Dying in a gutter close to where Harry and Peter would play. 

With much trepidation, Peter hesitated outside Sister Margaret's Bar. He could remember what the bartender's features were, his straggly blonde head and thick rimmed glasses; hopefully, he wouldn't recognise Peter. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter pushed the door. 

_I must admit, I can't explain, any of these thoughts racing through my brain_

Wade was there, back hunched over the stool, head dropped into his hands. He'd pulled himself into a rather defensive pose and was half obscured by other patrons, but Peter recognised him despite this. Weasel had caught Peter's eye, but made no move to acknowledge him, rather returned to serving. Peter hadn't intended to arrive so late, but he'd become so lost in thought during the walk he hadn't considered how slow he step became. All that thought and he didn't know what to say. 

_It's true, baby I'm howling for you_

As he stepped closer Wade's head was lifting, but he didn't turn. With a flippant gesture, he called Weasel over, sliding money across without stating what he wanted. More of the same, it would appear. Each step made Peter more hesitant, and the pressure of the eyes on him didn't help. Every person present was scrutinising him, perceiving the fresh meat before them and evaluating whether to attack. The tension was palpable, but Peter remained fixated on Wade's back. He couldn't risk breaking away. 

_There's something wrong with this plot, the actors have not got a clue_

Were his name on the dead pool, everyone would bet on him. Peter bit down on his bottom lip, hesitating. Stood beneath the naked light, he was five feet away from Wade, a spotlight as he approached. Part of him wished that Wade would be the first to break the moment, but it still seemed as if he hadn't noticed the driver there. 

_Throw the ball to the stick, swing and miss and a catcher's mitt_

Peter took the final step forward and reached out, feeling the man tense at his touch 

_Strike two_

Wade turned to face him, features red from liquor and deep-set by the tiredness that had grown in his bones. Between working the night-shift and the insomnia that his medication brought, the attractive face was darkened and almost hollowed. It had only been three weeks since they last saw each-other; Peter remembered how he'd seen Wade dead in a drain and swallowed hard. 

Spurred by the alcohol and sheer depression, Wade grabbed Peter's face and pulled it to his, enveloping his lips in a rich kiss. Sloppy at first, Wade pushed with desperation and it was only the humiliation of the bar that made Peter pull away. He faced the man's disappointment with a soft whisper in his ear, 'not here.' With a defiant nod Wade stood, necking whatever Weasel had given him and dragging Peter out of the bar. Someone dared make a retort as they exited, some pathetic quip about Wade's sexuality, and he was chastised with a glass to his face. 

They kept stepping, out of the range of the bar, away from the hubbub of roads and somewhere quiet, where the dark set early and the now gentle raindrops could be heard at random intervals. With little thought, Wade cupped Peter's face with both hands, pressed his back against a wall and kissed once more. Peter melted into this, responding with one hand clawing Wade's back while the other held what little hair there was to handle. 

_Baby, I'm howling for you_


End file.
